Albatross Song
by T.D. Prime
Summary: It was the end of the world as they knew it, and it was entirely his fault. If only he was the only one caught in the crossfire. RusAme. FACE Family. MPREG. Zombie Apocalypse. Canon Divergence.
1. Chapter 1

_Albatross Song_

Chapter One

Blood trilled in America's ears as he propelled himself forward. His calf muscles ached and the stitch in his side burned at an increasingly painful rate, but he continued on despite that, both parts adrenaline and fear spurring him on. The gangling branches of trees whipped at his face and arms as he ran, leaving in their wake nasty crimson welts that, despite their frequency, still made the young nation flinch each time they made contact with his sensitive skin.

He yearned to stop and rest his spasming legs, to be able to take greedy inhales of oxygen to help soothe his burning lungs. He'd run a fair distance, after all. Maybe he could just take a moment to- No. The agonized moans behind him were growing stronger. He had to keep moving – he had to get away.

He continued his progression, twirling between trees and narrowly avoiding roots, lacking finesse of any kind. The extensive, spindly arms of the surrounding pines continued their assault on America as he hurried along. Unexpectedly, the arm of one of the many limbs of foliage that he hadn't seen – God, how could he have been so careless – collided with his middle, stopping him dead in his tracks.

He dropped to the leaf covered forest floor, feeling as though the wind had been knocked completely out of him. Panic rose in his chest as the moaning of his assailants picked up in volume. He willed himself to get up, to keep moving, but his legs would not respond no matter how much he fretted. Cold terror settled like ice in his veins while an iron hot coil of anticipation settled low in his belly.

Clenching his eyes closed, he prayed to whatever deity that may have been listening to help him – hell, he wasn't asking for much. Just giving him the strength to move was all he wanted. A few tense moments passed and America worried his lip, waiting. For what, he wasn't quite sure. Minutes passed – or maybe it was hours, he couldn't tell – without incident.

He waited there a while longer before chancing opening his eyes. And all at once he became aware of something very strange. How had he not noticed before? The groans had faded and the forest had returned to its normal chattering of cicadas and birds, with the occasional croaks of frogs in odd intervals between them. In a strange way, the atmosphere of the canopied area felt lighter. Slowly, the knot that had formed in his stomach uncoiled itself.

The feeling in his legs had yet to return, but he was able to prop himself up on his elbows with the assistance of a tree trunk. He pushed up his glasses, which had slipped down the bridge of his nose during his frenzied dash. America let his eyes scan the brush that surrounded him, having to squint in the twilight light to make out his surroundings. As he glanced before him, he saw a slight movement and glowing eyes – _intelligent eyes_ – starring back.

Alarmed, he suddenly called out in a hesitant voice.

"Hello?"

Brush shuffled as the other drew nearer, stepping out just far enough into the dim light of the setting sun that America could make a few features – pale blond hair and bright blue eyes. A child.

"What are you doing out here all alone?" America asked gently, his tone softening as not to scare the little one. "Where's your fam- the people you're with?"

The child tilted his head to one side, a small smile settling over his soft features. He shook his head from side to side, his pale, curly hair fanning out around him as he did. He placed his index finger over his lips, mouthing one word.

 _Secret._

America furrowed his brows in concern. Secret? He could understand the kid not wanting to give up who he was – it was smart and understandable, actually. But he couldn't help the protective concern that bubbled up in his chest at the thought of a child so small being left alone out here in _this._

He opened his mouth to voice his reservations to the little one, hoping that he could convince the tiny blond to stay with him so that he could watch out for him and possibly reunite him with his family if they were still living. But a melodious, bell-like laugh cut him off. He nodded his head questioningly to the side, and the child grinned, pointing off behind America.

The older blond's head whipped around, searching the distant horizon for whatever caught the child's eye. In the ever fading light, he picked out a tall silhouette. It was familiar – comforting almost. But most importantly, it was non-threatening. He wasn't one of _them._

America looked back to the child, a question hot on his lips, but the boy was gone.

* * *

Alfred's eyes snapped open, cold sweat dripping from his forehead as he sat up in bed. His breathing was heavy as he gulped down oxygen greedily. His heart beat erratically in his chest as the effects of the dream lingered. It was growing hazier and was losing its crispness, but the extreme emotions were still there – fear, pain, concern, _protectiveness_.

In an attempt to calm himself, he glanced around the room, reassuring himself that it had all been a dream, that this was reality and he was fine. He caught a glance of the clock that stood on his bedside table.

 _4:32 AM._

" _Dorogoy?"_ a sleep hazed voice asked softly from beside the young nation. Alfred made to answer, but his tongue felt heavy in his mouth. All he could do was grab Ivan's hand, squeezing it tightly in an attempt to reassure. If it were an attempt to reassure him or Ivan was up for debate.

Alfred watched the growing concern in the older man's eyes at his unusual response. Keeping their hands clasped, Ivan sat up in bed, their shared duvet pooling at his hips, and leaned against the headboard. Without another word, he pulled the smaller nation close to his chest, fingers threading through Alfred's messy hair in a soothing manner.

It took a few minutes of quiet coaxing and gentle whispered words before the tension in Alfred's shoulders faded. He leaned into Ivan, his hands absentmindedly tracing the dips and curves of Ivan's stomach.

"Bad dream?" the accented voice asked gently as the he took up rubbing soothing circles down the blue eyed blond's back.

"Yeah," Alfred muttered, tucking his head into the crook of Ivan's shoulder.

"Would you like to talk about it?"

"Don't remember," was the clipped reply.

"Do you wish to go back to sleep?"

"Not really."

Ivan sighed in exasperation, nipping at the other's ear playfully. "Well then, Fredka, I am at a lost for what to do."

Alfred's lips quirked upward. He leaned forward, peppering a few kisses over the Russian's warm pulse before answering. "You just being here is enough, big guy."

Ivan smiled widely – a genuine smile that he reserved for Alfred and Alfred only – and leaned forward, capturing the American's lips in his. Alfred responded immediately, relocating himself to the older man's lap and pressing in fervently. He opened himself up to the Russian, letting the other explore his mouth to his heart's content, pushing back occasionally with a playful flick of his tongue.

A few moments later they broke apart, breathing heavily in an attempt to regain the oxygen that their heated exchange had deprived them of. Panting, Alfred pulled back. He let his hand rest on Ivan's lap and smirked when he felt something rather stiff standing at attention there.

"Looks like you've got a little problem," he said teasingly, pressing stray kisses to Russia's scared neck.

Russia let out a hum, looking down to where America's hand laid in barely contained amusement. "Yes, it would appear so." He looked to Alfred with a mock concerned expression. "What do you plan to do about that?" he questioned.

Alfred gave a thoughtful hum, looking down to Ivan's lap. He pulled back the covers, thankful that the other was already blissfully undressed from their earlier session, and took the Russian's half hard cock in his hand, stroking it up and down lightly. He picked up pace after a few more strokes, earning a low moan from the larger nation.

He continued his steady pace, increasing it from time to time just to earn another moan from his lover, before settling back to his self-assigned tempo. He enjoyed the needy kisses pressed to his forehead, his cheek, his neck, as he continued to explore the Russian's member. He traced his thumb lightly over the tip; smearing beads of precum that had formed there before letting his fingers follow the large, purplish vein that expanded its length, causing a primal grunt to leap from Ivan's throat. Alfred grinned. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he relocated himself. He kneeled down over the other's lap and cautiously grazed his tongue over the head of Ivan's cock.

Russia shuddered as a wave of pressure pulsed straight to his dick. He threaded his fingers through Alfred's golden locks, urging the younger nation forward with lust filled eyes.

Alfred licked his lips, looking down hungrily at his lover's engorged shaft. Alfred liked to think that he had a decently sized, if not above average, penis. _But Ivan._ Fuck, Ivan was huge. The first time they had had sex, he had been intimidated by it. For fuck's sake, it was the size of his forearm, _at least_. How did he even have enough blood flow to get hard without losing consciousness?! He had been wary about letting himself be penetrated by it, because, good fuck, it was huge.

That's not to say that he didn't absolutely love every part of it. Alfred considered himself mostly straight, – because come on, boobs were great – but Ivan was different in every sense of the word. And goddamn if Alfred had ever seen a more perfectly sculpted cock. It was a gift from god, he was sure.

Pushing his disjointed train of thought to the back of his mind, Alfred focused on his current endeavor. He flicked his tongue over Ivan's sensitive foreskin, pumping his hand up and down and enjoying the breathy moans that escaped his lover. After a bit more teasing, he took Ivan into his mouth – well, most of him. He still had a gag reflex, after all – swirling his tongue in different patterns over his length. Ivan groaned loudly, bucking himself further into Alfred's warm heat.

Alfred hummed in amusement, and he could feel Ivan tense underneath him as the vibrations traveled up his cock. Grinning the best he could with a dick in his mouth, Alfred reached forward with a skilled hand, cupping Ivan's balls in his hand and kneaded them teasingly.

Alfred felt the Russian tense underneath him and he knew he was close. He picked up his ministrations, his tongue flicking and lapping at all of Ivan's most sensitive areas, and his hand massaging the other's sack with gusto. He could feel it by the tremor of Ivan's skin. He was sure the other was almost there. Just a little—

Suddenly, Russia flipped him down on the mattress, and with a pop Alfred released his cock. Ivan had pinned Alfred beneath him, trailing a line of heated kisses from his Adam's apple down to his navel. Alfred groaned as Ivan flicked his tongue over the sensitive skin of his lower belly in maddening circles, sending jolts of pleasure down to his groin.

Ivan looked up to Alfred with bright, playful eyes, smiling as a faint blush dusted the American's cheeks.

"Don't tease me," Alfred huffed.

"Never, Dorogoy." The taller blond leaned forward, pressing his lips against Alfred's with vigor. A groan escaped Alfred as Ivan's heated skin brushed his ignored, aching manhood. He thrust forward into the heat in an attempt to tame the burning need.

Ivan pulled away a few moments later, smirking. "Patience, Fredka."

Alfred let out a low whine, pulling Ivan closer to him in search of more friction. He burrowed his head into the side of the Russian's neck, nipping in a way that was sure to leave a mark, and inhaled deeply. Ivan smelled of a delicate blend of vanilla, fresh snow, and sun bathed sunflowers. Not exactly what most others would associate with him, but in Alfred's mind it made perfect sense. It was warm, familiar, and comforting – all characteristics that the young nation associated with his lover.

Pulling back slightly, the larger nation began to focus his attentions on Alfred's chest. His teeth hooked onto the American's right nipple, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud and alternating between biting it – eliciting loud moans of approval from Alfred – and smoothing his tongue back over the reddened surface.

"Mmmmm," Alfred gasped, his fingers gripping Ivan's shoulder tightly. "E-enough foreplay, come on," he panted out, spreading his thighs further apart in anticipation.

Ivan chuckled, but obliged. He leaned back, balancing himself on Alfred's thighs, before reaching over to the nightstand that was immediately to his right. He fiddled around with it for a few moments, his brow creasing as he continued to search through the opened top drawer.

"What's wrong?" Alfred asked, annoyed at waiting.

Ivan gave the drawer one last once over before glancing back towards Alfred, brows furrowed.

"It appears that we are out of protection," he said bluntly, watching carefully for Alfred's reaction.

"Don't care," Alfred grunted, pulling Ivan back down with him. "Need you now."

A bark of laughter escaped Ivan's lips as he leaned over to pick up the bottle of lube that lay on the dresser. "You are very amusing, Fredka," he said fondly.

Alfred groaned, tired of waiting. He bucked his hips up, pleased as his sensitive skin glided against Ivan's.

"Come onnnnnnnn, you're killing me," he whined.

Ivan smiled in amusement as he squeezed a generous amount of lubricant into his palm. He worked it with his fingers for a moment, knowing that if there was even a touch of frigidness to it, Alfred would complain.

Once it was to the satisfactory temperature he went to work. He gave Alfred's thighs a nudge, signaling the other to spread himself open further. Alfred obliged eagerly and immediately, ready for some much needed release after being teased for far longer than he would have liked.

Alfred was still semi-stretched from their earlier activities, so Ivan's first two digits slid into the younger man with relative ease. The third took a small amount more urging, but Alfred didn't seem to mind. He gave a low moan of approval, forcing himself further down as Ivan continued to stretch his hole.

"O-oh!" he gasped at a particularly harsh jerk of Ivan's hand. A wave of pleasure pooled deep in his belly as the Russian hit his prostate dead on. A needy moan escaped his throat and his muscles clenched around Ivan's digits. It felt _so_ unbelievably wonderful, but it wasn't enough. He wanted more – he needed Ivan inside him.

"Please," Alfred panted out desperately. Slowly, Russia pulled back, removing his fingers – which earned a low whine from the American – and took a moment to take in the sight before him. Alfred knew he must have been a sight to behold: spread wide for Ivan, wheat blond hair disheveled, blue eyes bright, lips bruised from kissing, and cheeks rosy.

Thankfully, after a moment Ivan went back to focusing on the task at hand and picked up the lubricant once more, squeezing out a generous amount into the palm of his hand. He wasted no time slicking the length of his heated cock.

Roughly, he grabbed Alfred by the hips, pulling the other nation close. Happy that they were finally getting somewhere, Alfred eagerly wrapped his legs around Ivan's waist and pulled the other closer so that they were pulled flush together, chest to chest, as Ivan positioned himself at his entrance. Without a moment of hesitation, the pale blond thrust in to the hilt.

God, the fingers didn't do Ivan justice. _He was_ _huge._ Even after the many intimate encounters the two had shared, Alfred still found it just a little difficult to handle all of Ivan. A familiar ache pushed through him as he was stretched from the inside, but it was a good ache. Really, he just wanted Ivan to move and he wanted him to do it now.

"Move," Alfred whispered breathily. "I'm not going to break."

Grunting, the larger nation snapped his hips forward, moving slowly at first, but gaining more force with each passing breath. Alfred sighed contently at the blessed friction. He adored being this close with Ivan, and the lack of condom made it all the better. Every gentle movement felt a thousand times more amplified, pleasure overriding his senses and making his toes curl– and god, why didn't they forgo the annoying little piece of latex all the time?

Blue eyes half lidded, Alfred reached forward and tangled his hands in Russia's pale champagne locks. The other man's hair was silky between his fingers and he gave a slight tug, leading the other's head down to him. He caught Russia's chapped lips and pressed firmly against them with his own. Ivan pushed back hungrily after taking a moment to gain his bearings, and took control of the kiss. He mapped out the other eagerly, pulling away once, twice, to give a teasing nip to the other's lip.

"Ooooh," Alfred moaned out suddenly, seeing stars. His legs wrapped impossibly tighter around the Russian, urging him closer—as if that were possible. "T-there! Right there!"

Ivan chuckled, but complied easily, snapping his hips precisely to reach just the right angle.

"Y _esyesyes!"_ Alfred cried, his nails digging into the pale skin of Ivan's shoulder as he held on for dear life. Pleasure knotted hotly in his stomach as Ivan's dick made contact with that sweet bundle of nerves over and over again. Oh, he was so close and yet he wanted more. More friction, more contact, _more._

The Russian seemed to sense this as a moment later he reached between the two of them, his hand wrapping around Alfred's throbbing erection. He pumped in time with his own thrusts, which were picking up pace as Alfred's warm, velvety inner walls clenched around him.

"I-Ivan!" Alfred cried out, his orgasm fast approaching. His undoing came only a moment later at a particularly rough thrust from Ivan. He threw his head back, screaming himself hoarse and seeing white as he came, spurting onto their bellies.

Ivan's thrusts had lost any semblance of rhythm as he continued to buck into the smaller nation. He buried his head into the crook of Alfred's neck, pressing kisses to the warm pulse there as he neared his end. He came violently only seconds later, moaning lowly, albeit much quieter than Alfred had just seconds before. His hot seed shot deep into the smaller nation, eliciting a gasp from Alfred.

The older nation let out a contented moan, collapsing onto his lover only seconds later. Exhausted and utterly spent, he pressed a languid kiss to Alfred's sun kissed cheek.

They rode out their bliss for a few minutes, panting hard as their heart rates returned to normal. Ivan pulled out after he'd regained some semblance of energy, flopping down next to Alfred and pulling the other close. Alfred snuggled into his chest easily; throwing an arm over Ivan's hip as he nuzzled in closer to the other. The Russian just smiled, pulling the duvet up around them.

Alfred sighed contently, pressing a kiss to Ivan's neck. "Thank you," he said sincerely, voice soft.

Ivan shifted, running soothing fingers through Alfred's hair. "For what, Dorogoy?"

"Being here."

"You do not need to thank me," Ivan whispered, placing a kiss on Alfred's temple. "You do the same for me, yes?"

"Hmm," Alfred hummed, his head cradled on Ivan's chest. He took comfort in the steady beat of Ivan's heart as it beckoned him to slumber better than any lullaby ever could. As he was on the edge of consciousness, he swore he heard Ivan mutter something: _Ya tebya lyublyu, moy podsolnechnik_ is what it sounded like.

But maybe he just imagined it.

* * *

"That is ridiculous! If you're not going to even try, then don't bother coming!" shouted an angry, bushy-browed Englishman.

"No, it is not ridiculous! Do you even understand how my government operates?" America snapped back.

"Of course I do! Who do you think you stole most of its structure from?"

"The Romans."

"Don't get smart with me, America!"

America sighed, pressing his thumb and index finger to his temples in an attempt to ward off his oncoming headache. He hadn't been feeling all that great for going on three months, and England was not helping his case by yelling at him. He hadn't wanted to fight with anyone this time. Hell, he actually did his research and work so he wouldn't be snapped at for coming up with a ridiculous idea at the G8 meeting. Unfortunately for him, England just always seemed to want to fight.

"I think, given Amerika's circumstances, it is very understandable," an accented voice from the far end of the conference table said. America looked up to see Russia smiling his fake, childish smile, but his eyes were different than usual. He looked worried – understandable since he'd caught America throwing up in the men's restroom that morning.

America bit his tongue, mentally willing Russia not to say anything.

"And what would those circumstances be?" England asked, raising a very apparent brow.

"His congress, da? You have seen the news; they never do anything because they are so very childish. How is it his fault that they refuse to pass your bill?"

America gave an inaudible sigh of relief. Sure, it might be a little weird that Russia was defending him – officially, they were supposed to hate each other's guts – but that was fine. As long as that was the extent of it, it would be okay.

"Because—"

"Nyet, it is not his fault."

England's eyes widened, face turning an interesting shade of puce. His posture was similar to that of an attack dog at the ready. However, before he could get the first syllable of his undoubtedly many curses out, he was cut off.

"Ahem." The members of the G8 looked ahead to see Germany poised before the white board at the head of the room. He waited for silence, clearing his throat once more. As soon as everyone had quieted and he was sure he had all of their attention, he spoke.

"Tensions are running high and we are all tired. Perhaps now would be the best time to take our dinner break?"

A murmur of agreement chorused through the room, and with a flurry of movement, almost everyone was gone – most likely to get away from Russia, since they all seemed almost horrified that he had come to America's defense. England, however, was still fuming and had to be led away by France, who was murmuring some unintelligible words into the other's ear.

Once Alfred heard the door click behind them, he relaxed, practically slumping against the back of his seat for support. God, he was so tired.

A pair of arms snaked around his waist and he relaxed into them, feeling a chaste kiss pressed to the back of his head.

"Are you all right, Fredka?"

The younger made a noncommittal noise, snuggling back into Russia's embrace. He was freezing and, for whatever reason, Ivan felt like a space heater behind him.

There was some brief shuffling behind him, in which Ivan removed his hands from Alfred's waist. Alfred let out a whine at the loss of contact, but it was restored a moment later. One of Ivan's hands circled back around his waist, while the other pressed firmly to his forehead.

"You have a fever, Dorogoy." Russia spun him around so that they were facing each other and let his hands rest on Alfred's hips. He took in how bright and glassy Alfred's eyes were with a frown.

"S'okay," Alfred said, wrapping his arms around Ivan's shoulders and nuzzling his face into Ivan's cream colored scarf.

"I will take you home."

"Nah, I'm fine. I can wait out the rest of this. I mean it's what, two more hours?"

"I wish you would not do that, podsolnechnik." Russia had taken up rubbing circles against Alfred's lower back, which he rather appreciated since, along with other things that seemed to have been going wrong with him. His back was hurting like a bitch. Maybe it was the small bit of weight that he had put on? (How he had managed that when it seemed like he was constantly puking was a mystery to him.)

"Babe, you do realize that I can't just leave meetings every time I'm not feeling a hundred percent, right?"

"I do realize this," Ivan said, pausing to press a kiss to the corner of Alfred's mouth. "And did I say not to come to the meeting tomorrow? Nyet, I said that it would be okay to go home early today. You were here for the most important parts; it would be fine if you missed the rest. It is just talk of trade. It is not as if it is anything of importance."

"You and me both know that if I go now, I'll never hear the end of it from England."

"Forgive me for saying so, Fredka, I know he is your father, but I very much do not care for him."

Alfred let out a bark-like laugh. "Forgive _me_ for saying so, but he very much does not care for you, either."

"I am not looking for his approval."

"Good. You wouldn't get it. Hell, if he knew about this he'd kill you, then me."

"He is small. He could not do a thing."

Looking up at Russia's face, America frowned. He was kidding, but he knew the subject bothered Russia immensely. It was for a good reason, he knew. He and Russia were two of the world's strongest superpowers. A union between the two, even if it was a human one, not a national one, would not be taken well. They'd be seen as a threat and it would cause them all types of problems that they'd rather avoid.

Didn't mean they liked hiding it, though.

"Hey, don't do that," America said. He pinched Russia's nose for good measure.

"Do what?"

"Gimme that: _I'm a sad kicked puppy_ look! It makes me feel like an ass."

"I do not have a look," Russia said blandly.

"You do too! You have the same look that puppies in the ASPCA commercials have!"

"Are you calling me a dog, Fredka?"

"Nope, a puppy." Alfred leaned his head up, pecking Ivan on the lips gently.

"Your joke was so funny that I forgot to laugh."

Alfred hummed and took up playing with the frayed edge of Ivan's scarf.

"Y'know, if you're hungry you can go get something to eat," he told Ivan offhandedly, aiming to get his mind off their previous conversation.

"I will go if you are hungry, Fredka. Are you?"

Shit. America lived for food. It was his thing. If he said no then there would be no getting around going home early. He could already hear England chastising him in his mind about how he needed to be a responsible adult.

It's not really like he could do anything about his illness, anyway. He was a nation. He couldn't just get up and go visit a doctor anytime he felt a tiny bit under the weather. It would be a hassle. He could just see the knit in his boss's brow as he milled through the mounds of paperwork that would come along with Alfred's business. No, he couldn't go to a doctor unless he was short of dying – which he wasn't.

Thinking fast, Alfred answered. "I mean, I am, but there is nowhere good around here. I should've packed something. Hindsight's a bitch."

"What about that greasy food you like so much. Mac- Mc?"

" _McDonald's,"_ Alfred corrected. He repressed a groan. The worst part about his recent illness, he thought, was his total aversion to his beloved hamburgers. Lately, he'd preferred that weird beetroot soup that Russia liked to make when he was over – Borscht it was called. The very thought of a hamburger now made his stomach churn.

"Yes, that. Would you like to have dinner there?"

"Well, I would, but the one here's kind of shitty, you know? The people that make the food are always high. We'd probably get like, contact high from eating it."

"Alfred," Russia growled.

Alfred tensed. Ivan had called him by his first name. Not Fredka or one of the other weird Russian things that he didn't understand: Alfred.

The shorter blond stayed silent, hiding his face in the other's neck and waiting for him to continue.

Russia sighed, letting out a long drag of air. He continued his ministrations; spinning designs with his fingers on Alfred's lower back in an attempt to soothe the other. It worked after a few seconds and he felt the smaller nation lean against him more, having him support his weight.

"I am sorry, Fredka," Ivan said gently, running a hand through Alfred's hair, "I am not trying to control you. I just worry about you."

Alfred let out a small huff, tilting his head back to meet Ivan's gaze. "I know you do, big guy. I worry about you too, ya know? But I don't take having orders handed to me well. Never have, never will. "

"I know, podsolnechnik. I apologize." Ivan leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Alfred's temple, then to his pulse. _"Ya tebya lyublyu,"_ he whispered against the smaller nation's neck, so quietly Alfred almost didn't hear.

It was silent for a moment, before Alfred spoke.

"What does that mean?" he asked, curious. He could have sworn he'd heard Ivan say those exact words before, but he couldn't place when or why.

Ivan went very still, a sight that was almost comical. He looked like a deer caught in headlights. "It means – ah, how to say that I – that you are very – that I feel –"he sputtered, his face taking a rosy hue.

"Yeah?" Alfred prompted, his lips twitching upwards at the crimson pigment that spanned from Ivan's neck up to his ears.

"It means that—" he was cut off by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching rapidly from down the hall. Alfred pushed Ivan away just in time for the door to swing open; France, England, Canada, Germany, Italy, and Japan crashing through it. Germany looked around frantically before locating and pulling numerous furniture pieces in front of the double doors of the conference room.

Alfred's eyes, however, were drawn to a frantic England. He held Canada close as his eyes searched the group before him.

"Alfred! Where's Alfred?!" he howled, something suspiciously close to tears in his eyes.

"I'm right here, Iggy," Alfred replied. It was more of a question than an answer. America hadn't heard England that distraught since the Nazis took Paris during World War II.

England swung around on his heel, rushing forward toward Alfred as fast as his legs could carry him as soon as he located the younger nation's voice. He wrapped his arms around the taller nation desperately, holding him close like he had when he was a child. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have yelled at you, I shouldn't have." His words were low as he whispered them into Alfred's ear and he sounded just the tiniest bit hysteric.

"England?" he whispered, his tone unsure. He didn't get a coherent response, just more unintelligible muttering.

Looking up, he caught France's eye. "France?" he asked, confused.

France walked – more like jogged – over to him with Canada in tow. As soon as they were within arm's reach, the two other nations jolted forward, wrapping their arms tightly around America and England. It was desperate; like they needed to make sure he was really there. And for the first time in a long time, he felt like he had a family again.

But along with that realization came cold terror. Something was definitely wrong. His family wasn't the touchy-feely sort – besides France, anyway – they hadn't hugged, hadn't actually acted like a family since – No, no more of that train of thought. He couldn't get upset over that at the moment.

"Something happened, mon petit," France whispered grimly. It was just then that America noticed the flakes of red that stained England's normally prim and proper suit collar.

Pulling away from his family, America stood tall, his posture strong, brave, even if he didn't feel like it at the moment. "What happened?"

France didn't answer, so Alfred turned his eyes to Canada. "Mattie?"

A huge array of emotions flickered across Matthew's face – fear, regret, relief, anxiousness – and he downcast his eyes, running a hand over Kumajiro's fur – who looked startled, which was incredibly worrying – before answering. "I-I don't know how to say this." He paused, stepping back. The Canadian took a deep breath, placing his hand atop Alfred's shoulder before continuing.

"People were – they were –," Matthew's speech shook and he had to pause once more to steady his voice. His fingers trembled as he held on tighter to Alfred's shoulder in an attempt to calm himself. "They were attacking each other…"

He looked to Alfred with watery violet eyes, seeming to be holding back tears, before continuing. "They were eating each other, Al. It was like they were – God, I don't know… Zombies." Canada paused, watching his brother's features sharply in anticipation of his reaction.

America waited.

And waited.

And waited.

No one said a word.

And suddenly, he laughed. He laughed so hard that he had to clutch his sides.

"Ha-ha! That's real funny, guys! But you do know April fool's day was three months ago?" His voice bounced off the walls of the room, echoing loudly within his own eardrums.

No one laughed. No one said a word. Alfred waited for them to do something, anything. To yell "Gotcha!" and laugh about how gullible he was. To tell him that he was an idiot, and of course they were joking.

So he waited once more.

And waited.

And waited.

And suddenly it wasn't all that funny anymore.

"All right, guys. You had your fun," his voice was sharp, with just a slight touch of anger. They could have their chuckles some other time because this joke had gone on long enough. "Stop messing with me, it's not cute."

"America-san," a quiet voice near the door said. Alfred's head whipped around as he stared at his longtime friend and ally, Japan. "It's not a joke."

It sounded like a joke. Maybe a funny one at first, but one that had lost its humor as it had been held out for far too long. But Japan's brown eyes were serious. He wouldn't go along with that kind of prank, Alfred knew. Kiku was well aware of how badly scenarios and situations like that scared Alfred from their many video game fueled sleepovers.

He wouldn't do that. He wouldn't.

So…

So…

That meant that they weren't kidding. That meant that his citizens – his people – were out there, killing, _eating_ each other.

His felt nauseous. His stomach lurched and he had to fight to keep the bile down. All at once he felt eyes on him, scrutinizing his face for some sort of reaction. With much effort, he was able to keep his features perfectly blank.

He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to calm himself. His eyes caught Ivan's, cobalt inspecting violet. A silent conversation sparked between them: yes, the others were telling the truth, and they needed to do something about it and do it at once.

"We need a plan," he said, finally.

No one responded at first, but after a few more seconds of brief silence, Germany spoke up.

"What do you suggest?"

A loud moaning came from the hallway as something – maybe more than one – started to throw itself against the door.

Italy cringed, clinging tightly to Germany's arm, tears running silently down his face.

Alfred looked onto the small Mediterranean nation with sympathy. He gave a small smile, hoping to convey some reassurance that everything would be all right. Italy looked at him with watery hazel eyes, but gave him a small nod of thanks.

Alfred nodded his acknowledgment kindly before speaking.

"Well, at the moment, we need to focus on getting out of here. We're no good to anyone stuck here," America said, his brain flipping from civilian to military. "We can get to my house, use it as a base. Its got woods surrounding it, so there won't be people for miles. We should be safe there for a little while until we can evaluate the situation further and come up with a more solid plan."

"But how will we get there, Amerika? We cannot call a taxi. We would have to walk all the way there, through that," Russia motioned his head toward the door, his statement punctuated by another agonized moan from the other side of the hardwood. He would have been the picture of calm had he not been worrying his scarf between his fingers. It was funny, the little things America was able to pick up about him. Years ago, he wouldn't have noticed any of it.

America gave a small smirk, digging in the pocket of his bomber jacket and pulling out a worn leather lanyard. "SUV, baby."

Hah! And England had told him it was a gas guzzling waste of space when he bought it!

" _You live alone, America! What is the point of having a vehicle that can transport a little league team!"_ he had said. And look at them now. Had the situation been a little less serious, he might have taken a moment to gloat.

"That's all good and well, but how are we going to get to your van?" Germany asked, his eyes narrowing in scrutiny.

America sighed, and suddenly he looked much closer to his actual 400+ age than his physical age of nineteen. "Follow me, run like hell, and don't get caught off guard."

Germany sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked around hopefully, eager for anyone else to throw out a different plan: one with less risk of injury or casualty. He waited, but no one spoke.

"Very well, America." He let out a long-suffering sigh. "Any objections?"

America waited, and to his amazement everyone remained exceptionally quiet. For the first time since he became a nation, no one argued. No one disagreed. It was unfortunate, he thought, that it had to be these circumstances that brought them to agreement.

"Through the window then?" England asked after a tense silence settled around them. There was still a rigid tension to his shoulders, but the outright panic had ebbed away. He looked determinedly towards his youngest son, camaraderie shining deep in his emerald irises. Alfred felt a little braver and surer in his actions at that look.

"S'pose so," America nodded. Luckily for them – if you could call it that, really – their conference was on the ground level floor. There was still a bit of a drop from the window to the ground, but it was a lot better than having to jump out of a third story window.

Alfred walked over to it slowly, unwilling to yet see the horrors that lay beyond, before he propped it open. He climbed onto the sill and held onto the wall to keep his balance. Soon the pane was securely snapped in place. Painstakingly, his eyes raked over the scene before him, looking for any signs of danger that could hinder them from proceeding.

He saw no threats in the immediate area. Taking a brief instant, he closed his eyes and breathed. His nerves weren't settled and he still felt incredibly nauseous, but he knew he needed to be calm and he needed to get everyone out of there. He signaled for the others to line up behind him.

He glanced back at them, waiting until everyone had queued up in an orderly fashion.

"Stay close," he said seriously. There was a collective nod from the others. With one last deep breath, he gave a short solute to them before throwing his weight forward. His feet made contact with the ground a moment later with a loud bang. He cursed himself for the noise and wobbled a small bit.

 _Shit, I'm dizzy._

The others followed his lead, first England, then France, Canada, then Japan, Italy, then Germany, and finally Russia brought up the rear. America's heart gave a small squeeze when he saw where his lover was. He didn't feel comfortable with him being that far away. But, if there was one thing that America knew about Russia, it was that no matter what the situation, Ivan would be fine.

Taking comfort in the fact that at least his family was right behind him, he ran, hearing the heavy foot falls of those behind him. America's SUV was parked in an empty lot – he hoped that was still the case – about two blocks away.

For the first few hundred feet, he didn't see anyone, just buildings and cars among the streets. He almost thought that maybe the other nations really had been messing with him all along, but then he saw it. The body of an old man, or what used to be him, stuffing its face with the innards of a half dead golden retriever that was still yelping in pain or maybe for help.

And oh how America did want to help – to do something – but he knew in their current predicament, he would be no help to anyone, human or beast, and was much more likely to become a liability to the group. He winced and looked away, speeding along and trying his damnedest not to vomit.

As the group ran, they came along many more of these gruesome scenes. The one that stuck with America most, however, was a dead woman that was eating her baby. It had been difficult to press on past that.

They'd been running a good while when white hot pain settled in his stomach, just below his navel, for some unknown reason and America's vision began to blur.

It couldn't have been the run, could it? He'd run farther than this just messing around, racing Matt. Two blocks shouldn't be enough to tire him, let alone physically hurt him, should it?

Taking a rasping breath, Alfred forced his vision to clear. He was able to make out the black sheen of his SUV. It was a few hundred feet away, sitting in the thankfully empty parking lot. Those things weren't anywhere near it.

His heart hammered in his chest as he sprinted. Just a little more, they were almost there—

Something knocked into Alfred's side, knocking him off balance, but thankfully not tipping him over. He glanced to his right just long enough to see the half hanging face of a man. It groaned loudly, the stench of death clinging to it like a second skin.

"Shit!" Matthew swore loudly. Alfred whipped his head around in time to see his twin stumble over the rise of a curb and hit the ground. Without taking a moment to rethink his actions, he spun backwards, running toward Canada, and drew his keys from his pocket.

"Matthew! Alfred!" France and England cried in unison.

"Russia! Think fast!" He threw his keys backwards toward Ivan. They arched in the air before landing directly into Russia's outstretched palm.

"Alfred, you idiot, what are you doing!?" England screeched from behind him.

Alfred shook his head, ignoring the cries of panic from the others as Germany and Russia ushered them forward – England and France screaming for the tall blonds to let them go, that they had to help their sons – and focused his attention solely on his brother. Matthew's lavender eyes were blown wide in terror, his irises barely visible around his blown pupils.

Alfred rushed towards him, dropping to his knees before his brother.

More of the dead were beginning to make their way toward them. "Can you walk?" he asked urgently.

Matthew attempted to, but fell a moment later, letting out a low groan. "I-I think I sprained my ankle!"

"Hang on, then!" With no more warning than that, America scooped his brother up into his arms, twisting on his heel as he ran full speed toward the van. Canada looped his arms around his younger brother's neck and hung on tightly. Kumajiro clung firmly to Canada's chest, looking up at America with terrified brown eyes. The decaying masses had made it to the parking lot and were making their way at an alarmingly quick rate toward the vehicle.

Nausea and pain pooled in America's stomach and he had to strain to keep Canada balanced in his arms. Just a little further –

Something caught America's leg and unceremoniously, he crashed to the ground.

"Alfred!" Matthew shrieked.

All at once, the world around him seemed to stop. The zombie that had knocked into Alfred just a minute prior now had its hand latched tightly to Alfred's ankle. Staring up at Alfred with glassy eyes, it gave a low grunt and attempted to bite his leg with dull teeth. On instinct, Alfred's hand flew straight to his pocket, brandishing a .38 colt revolver from his coat. In a matter of seconds, his thumb pushed back the hammer and with all the dexterity he processed, he pulled the trigger.

A gush of its blood splatted across Alfred's cheeks, a hole appearing in the center of the thing's forehead, dripping dark crimson. Its body lifelessly fell to the side.

 _People dying before his eyes, children burning, mothers screaming._

 _Chaos._

 _It was Chaos._

 _He wasn't even on the battlefield and people were dying. They were dying in hoards and there was nothing he could do._

 _Black smoke billowed from the destroyed town. He pressed forward._

 _Burning bodies everyone. The smell of death was thick._

 _There was nothing he could do._

 _Suddenly, something grabbed on to his ankle. He looked down, horrified to see the roasting body of a child._

" _Please…"_

 _Alfred clenched his eyes shot, aiming the barrel of his gun down at the child's forehead. He squeezed._

 _POP!_

 _And the little one was gone._

"Alfred!"

He looked down dazedly at his older brother. There was panic and worry buried deep in his lavender eyes.

That's right! He wasn't on the battlefield; he wasn't fighting on the war front. He was in his land and he needed to get Matthew to safety!

Pulling the Canadian closer to his chest, he made to run. His legs trembled beneath him so severely that they gave out immediately. He tried again. His legs refused to cooperate.

Panic coiled low in his belly at this realization. He looked around frantically, taking in each and every one of the zombies that were drawing ever closer toward him and his brother. His breathing picked up frantically as he tried to get up to get Matthew and himself to safety. But no matter how hard he willed them, his legs would not do as he wished.

They were going to die.

They were going to die because his legs refused to cooperate.

He couldn't breathe. They were going to die because Alfred couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't do a thing.

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe!

Suddenly, Germany was there, taking his brother away from him and into his own arms. The German looked down at Alfred worriedly. Alfred stared back, his vision tunneled.

"Keep moving," he heard a familiar Russian accent order, "I have him."

Suddenly he was being held, one arm supporting his back and one arm supporting his legs. Ivan ran forward with purpose and Alfred subconsciously hooked his arms tightly around the larger nation's neck to keep himself from falling.

Alfred was wheezing in Ivan's arms, his lungs burning at their pitiable attempt to get air in. His eyes were clenched shut and he coughed sharply. His head felt strange, like someone had shoved a layer of cotton between his skull and his brain. His chest constricted tightly and his heart felt as if it was going to beat out of his chest at any moment.

He felt himself jostled, and then suddenly it was as if the sun had disappeared. They weren't running anymore, but they were still moving. He wanted to ask what was happening, but he couldn't get the words out through his thin, wheezing attempts at air. Many voices were speaking around him, and it was hard to make out individuals.

"He's not breathing!" someone shouted.

"I think he's having a panic attack," a quieter voice chimed.

"Amerika, I need you to listen to me." But he couldn't listen to whoever it was; he had to focus on breathing. He couldn't breathe! He needed air! He needed –

" _Fredka."_

 _In the ever fading light, he picked out a tall silhouette. It was familiar – comforting almost._

Alfred's eyes began to refocus and he could just make out gentle violet eyes staring down at him worriedly.

"Listen to me," Ivan said, his voice soothing. "Listen to me breathe, and do as I do."

Since he didn't have the ability to speak, he nodded his head dumbly. He listened as Ivan took a deep engulf of air and did his best to replicate the action. It took a few stuttering starts, but by the third time Alfred was able to replicate it. After he did, Ivan took a long breath out. Alfred followed suit, to the best of his abilities.

It took a very long while, but eventually Alfred was breathing normally once more. When his vision came back to him, he was able to figure out their surroundings.

He was in his car – the dim illumination of twilight being his only source of light – in the middle row of seats with Matthew and Kumajiro to his left and Ivan to his right.

 _Mattie!_ Matthew was all right! He was a little banged up, but he was all right!

America pushed himself forward and wrapped his arms tightly around his twin. Relief filtered through him. Matthew was fine. He was fine.

Canada wrapped his arms around Alfred with equal vigor. "I'm okay," he whispered lowly into Alfred's ear. "We're okay. You did good."

"Are you all right, lad?" England asked quietly from the passenger seat. America pulled back from his twin's embrace to peer at the older nation.

His voice was gentle and his green eyes were the softest America had seen them in a long time. He made an effort to voice a simple _I'm fine_ , but his tongue felt like sand in his mouth. Numbly, he nodded his head in affirmation.

"Rest, mon petit," France said from the driver's seat, glancing back at Alfred in worry via the rear-view mirror. "We'll wake you when we arrive."

Well, he couldn't argue with that. His eyelids felt so heavy. The growing dark of evening didn't help keep him awake, either. He could barely see around him as the twilight faded, the only light in the cabin of the vehicle coming very faintly from the headlights. He could barely see Mattie next to him.

He settled back into his seat, his head resting lightly on Russia's shoulder. He felt an arm loop loosely around his waist, squeezing his hip reassuringly. He leaned into the touch, twining his fingers tightly around the Russian's other hand.

He squeezed gently.

Ivan squeezed back tighter.

Alfred smiled.

He was on the edge of sleep in a matter of minutes. Just as he was about to fade off, he heard a tiny chirp of bell-like laughter.

* * *

First things first, I would like to formally apologize to my mother for sinning.

No, but seriously, I hope you guys liked this. This is my first story on here, as well as my first Hetalia story so I did my best. I'm a mean person, so I like anything with angsty America.

In case it wasn't clear, America has some pretty severe PTSD. The little flashback was supposed to have happened during the Vietnam War - the My Lai Massacre. I have a head canon that since Alfred is so young, but fought in so many wars he's a little unbalanced and can have a hard time dealing with it. I think during actual war time, he has to pep himself up and if he can't, well not very good things happen.

I'm not really too sure for the time period of this. I realized while I was writing this that _shit, Russia isn't in the G8 anymore_ but for the sake of the story let's just say it was before he got the boot.

I don't have a beta for this, so all mistakes you see are my own fault. Feel free to point them out, I will not be offended at all. All criticism is welcomed and greatly appreciated.

I'm not really sure how frequently I'll update this. I have quite a bit of it written already, but depending on the response it gets it may be more or less often. I was pretty hesitant to post this at all, so that might play into it. Initially it was just something I wrote for my own enjoyment after playing The Walking Dead Game and the Last of Us.

Anyway, thank you all very much for reading and please feel free to review! I appreciate it.

\- T.D.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

A gentle wind shook Alfred from his stupor. He lifted his head up toward the sky, waiting for his eyes to adjust in the sweeping darkness. He shivered a moment later as a decidedly fiercer, frigid gust of air blew forcefully against him, biting his cheeks. Goose pimples pricked their way down his back and up his arms as he drew his coat desperately closer to himself in an attempt to retain some warmth.

It was freezing! He zipped his bomber jacket as far up as it would go, hiding the lower half of his face in the fur lining of the collar before cramming his hands in his pockets in an attempt to avert the frosty chill that nipped at them. Just where was he, anyway?

He narrowed his eyes in an effort to make out his surroundings – to find anything to clue him in on where he might be. Unfortunately, due to his lacking eyesight, he was only able to make out the heavily canopied roof of a forest. He could just faintly, and with much difficulty, make out the barbed needles of the tall pines that towered above him.

Trees.

That's what he had to go on.

Call him spoiled, but he was going to need a little more information than that to find his way out of there. Even so, Alfred knew that he had to get moving. He would do no good simply standing there waiting for some wild animal to come across him.

Nope, best to keep moving.

He crept forward slowly. The chill of the wind had robbed his muscles of the ability to move any quicker than a snail's pace, so his progression was minimal. The snow under his boots was firm and crunched and cracked loudly in the silent night. The forest was eerily quiet, only separated by the occasional hoot of an owl before lulling back to an all-consuming hush.

Alfred wasn't scared, however. He wasn't afraid of the darkness that encircled him like a vice or of his ignorance to his location. No. He was more unsettled than anything. What truly unnerved him was the lack of, well, anything. He would be ecstatic just to hear the cry of a cicada or the howl of a wolf. The total silence made his stomach sink.

He traversed his path in silence, letting the consistent crunch of the snow comfort him somewhat. Sure, it wasn't much, but it was certainly better than nothing at all. As he walked along, staring down at his feet in an attempt not to trip over the many roots that snaked across the forest floor, a small sliver of light caught in his peripheral vision.

His head snapped up, and he was able to make out a faint, green glow ahead of him. He rushed forward as much as he was able, urging his legs to carry him faster, the light growing more vibrant as he approached what he assumed would be a clearing between the stretches of forest. If he could see the sky, the stars, then it was likely that he would be able to make it out over wherever the hell he was.

Every one of his senses seemed to heighten in anticipation, his ears and eyes straining. He was almost there – just a few more steps. His bounded on his feet, pushing himself through the threshold of the clearing.

He almost couldn't believe what he saw.

Vibrant hues of greens and yellows struck his irises. Grand glittering lights moved like the tide being pulled by the moon. They were fluid, draping the frozen land below them in a neon green blanket. The stars shone brightly above them, glittering like diamonds. The sheer amount of stars was baffling. Alfred couldn't remember the sky being like that since he was just a colony.

He had never seen anything like—wait. He had, once before. It had been years and years ago, before either of the World Wars. He had been visiting Ivan and the other had seemed so wired the whole day. When America had asked him about it, Russia had brushed it off as nothing. But, as the day faded into night, his giddiness – if you could call it that – had amplified tenfold. Around dusk he had pulled Alfred outside, beckoning him to lay back and watch the sky. It had been breathtaking, and he could still remember the wide smiles on both their faces.

So, those were the northern lights, then? Did that mean that he was in Russia?

No. It felt too familiar. This wasn't Russia. If it was, he would know. The shift in his gut and the loss of something would be much more pronounced.

But there was no view like this anywhere in his country.

He thought on it for a minute before something clicked in place in his mind.

There _was_ somewhere like this in his country. Not in the mainland, but it was still his territory.

Alaska.

But why was he in Alaska?

And was that water? His ears perked. He was almost sure it was. The wind picked up once more, and he heard a wave crash down somewhere to his left.

So there really was a body of water somewhere nearby? Well, that was good. He could follow along it, and hopefully come across a city. Hell, civilization in general would be a blessing.

Nodding to himself, Alfred gave one last glance up at the picturesque sky before advancing down the snow frosted hill. It was troublesome to have to cautiously watch each step he took, but Alfred did it regardless. Better he be slow than hurt.

He was able to pick up the growing volume of the water. The cacophony of the tide crashing against the jagged, rocky shore made it difficult to hear much else, but that was fine. It wasn't like there was much else to hear, anyway.

Finally, Alfred's boots made contact with something besides snow. Tan, wet grains of sand packed together under his feet as he moved along. He squinted into the distance, making out the far off snow-capped top of a mountain.

He was deliberating on whether or not he should move toward it or away when he heard it – a quiet mewling. It started softly at first, from his right, but as he made his way over to the source, it grew louder.

A few steps more and Alfred spotted what appeared to be a rolled up, cream colored scarf that had been abandoned on the shore of the beach. Shrugging, he made to move on. But then he heard it and stopped dead in his tracks.

It wasn't mewling. It was a baby, wailing.

Alfred gasped and, without a second thought, propelled himself forward with energy that he wasn't aware that he processed. How in the hell did a baby get out there? And who in their right mind would leave a child unattended on a beach in Alaska, at night, in the dead of winter?

He came to an abrupt halt before the blanket wrapped child. Seeming to sense his presence, the child stilled and its cries faded to quieter hiccups. Alfred's expression softened as he leaned down beside the child, scooping it up in his arms.

He cradled the little one close to him, unzipping his jacket halfway and tucking the infant tighter against his chest. He used the sides of his jacket as a shield to the harsh, unforgiving gales that raged around them. Once the baby was secure, he pulled back the thin quilt just enough so that he was able to make out the child's face.

Affection swelled in his chest at what he saw. Bright cobalt eyes stared back at him. The child's eyes were watery and his cheeks were rosy from his previous crying, but the tears had stopped. His light blond hair – it almost looked white it was so light – was flat against his scalp, save one wayward curl that stuck up in the front. Alfred smiled down at him. He was cute.

Almost as soon as he thought this, though, the child's face scrunched up and turned red as he let out another wail. Ignorant to what he should do – he'd never been left alone with children before – America tried shushing him, rocking him back and forth on the balls of his heels.

"Shhhh, little guy. I'm here," Alfred whispered, gently brushing the child's cheek with a gloved finger. The child's cries quieted somewhat, but were still present.

"Shhhh, shhhh." Blue orbs widened as they stared up at Alfred. He smiled, and the little boy's cries quieted further, dying down to quiet mewling. "That's right. No need to cry. I've got you."

Alfred hummed, rocking the child in his arms back and forth in an attempt to calm him. The crashing of waves seemed to help the little one along into sleep. Within minutes, with the aid of America's comforting presence, he drifted off. His tiny chest rose and fell softly with each breath.

Alfred stood in place for awhile longer to verify the babe was deep enough within slumber before he even attempted to move. He needed to get them to shelter, that was for sure, but where to go? He thought on it, worrying his lip.

He was deep in thought when a loud warble came from above. Jumping in place, he looked up in search of whatever had disrupted his thoughts.

He found it odd what he was met with.

A large water fowl had landed a few feet before them. Alfred took a step back, pulling the child protectively closer to his chest, studying the thing before him with weary eyes. Its feathers were black as coal, but looked smooth to the touch. It had a gray, hooked beak and round eyes.

It was staring at him with those eyes.

"Uhh…"

The bird did not respond – not that he expected it to – but took a step closer.

Alfred took a step back.

It took a step closer.

" _-red."_

And what was that?

Alfred took another step back.

The bird took a step closer.

"- _lfred."_

It was really starting to piss him off. Again the bird took yet another step closer.

" **Alfred."**

Alfred opened his eyes to see the slightly annoyed face of his brother.

"We're here. Come on, get out."

America blinked, looking up with wide eyes at his brother.

Oh, so he was dreaming then?

He stretched his limbs, a loud popping noise accompanying his action, and let out a yawn before he complied. They were in the garage of his Massachusetts home, and the door into the house had been left open, a faint glow spilling into the otherwise dark room from the threshold.

He could hear movement from inside the house and looked around to see that he and Canada were the only ones still in the SUV. Yawning, America moved to get out through the side door, waiting patiently in place for Canada to maneuver his way out with his bear. However, as soon as Matthew's feet touched the ground, his knees buckled and gave out under him. America caught him by his shoulders before he hit the ground.

He slung Canada's arm over his shoulders and hooked his arm around his brother's waist to keep him steady.

"Your ankle hasn't gotten any better then?"

America already knew the answer. He could see the strain on his twin's face and feel the tension in his shoulders as he leaned more heavily against him.

"I think it's swelling," Canada muttered.

"We'll wrap it when we get inside," America assured him, though there was still worry in his voice.

They were nations. Something as minor as a sprained ankle shouldn't affect them for more than a few minutes. And it sure as hell shouldn't get to the point where it was able to swell. That meant that something was amiss, and that it was affecting Canada and its people. It also meant that it was bad enough to impede Matthew's healing abilities. Alfred had a gut-wrenching feeling that whatever was going on in his own country had likely crossed over into his brother's.

That was not a comforting thought.

"Do you want me to carry you?"

Matthew shook his head. "It's fine. It's only a few feet." He paused, scanning Alfred up and down with inquisitive violet eyes. "Al..?"

"Yeah?" America raised an eyebrow at the hesitance in his speech. Was Mattie thinking the same thing he was?

"What happened back there?"

Alfred stiffened, but forced his shoulders to relax. It would be best to play it off as if he didn't know what his brother was getting at, he decided. "You were there too, Mattie. Zombies are what happened. I don't know how. That's what we're trying to figure out."

Canada's frown deepened. "You know that's not what I'm asking."

Alfred's heart beat loudly in his ears and his blood turned to ice in his veins.

What did Mattie want him to say? That he was weak? That after Vietnam, all the shit from the century had come crashing down on his psyche? That he still had nightmares about fire and suffering and death? He wouldn't even admit that to Russia. Like hell he was going to tell his brother.

He was a grown man, not some weak, little child that needed comforting.

 _But you do,_ a nagging voice at the back of his mind taunted him.

No. He was strong. He wouldn't let something like this break him. And hell, most of the other nations had gone through situations far more stressful than what he had experienced. It would be laughable to any one of them that he couldn't get over a few decades of hardship.

"I fell, Mattie. That's it."

Matthew opened his mouth to argue, but then shut it again. "You're such a child," he settled on a few moments later.

Alfred stood still as stone.

Frowning at his brother's lack of reaction, Matthew flicked Alfred's cheek. "It's okay to have emotions, you know. You don't have to bottle everything up because of some weird sense of pride."

"I do not bottle everything up, Matt." He attempted to say it levelly but, if Canada's face was any indication, it came out much more defensive than he had intended.

Canada sighed, squeezing America's arm in a comforting manner. His eyes were soft as he spoke. "Just know that if you ever need to talk about anything, I'm here."

"Who are you?" Kumajiro asked from Matthew's arms, looking up to his owner with wide, curious brown eyes.

"I'm Canada!"

"Ha!"

"What's so funny?" Canada snapped.

"Your bear's trolling ya, dude," Alfred laughed. He breathed a silent sigh of relief at the sudden change in conversation.

"Shut up!" Canada pinched his side harshly, causing America to wince.

"Bro! Not cool!" Alfred whined as he rubbed his sore side in an attempt to sooth the ache away.

Canada snorted.

"What's so funny?!" Alfred demanded, mirroring his brother's own words back at him.

"You've gotten fat," Canada said smugly, once again pinching the extra padding on Alfred's hip.

"No I haven't!" Alfred cried as he slapped Matthew's prodding hand away from his waist. A hot flush colored from his ears down to his neck, heat radiating from his face.

He knew he had put on some weight, he just didn't think it would be enough for anyone to notice. And it wasn't his fault! He hadn't even been eating that much! He was too busy puking whatever he had managed to get down.

"Have so."

"Have not!"

"Have too."

America breathed angrily through his nose. Fine, if Mattie wanted to be an ass, he could stay out there. He was just about to tell him so when a voice from inside the house interrupted them.

"Boys!" he heard England call.

Matthew was lucky that he'd prefer not to get bitched at by England for leaving his injured brother in the garage. Plus, he was a hero. He couldn't, in good conscience, leave him there. He supposed he would help Canada inside. But he would get revenge, mark his words.

Alfred led them toward the living room. Their progress was slow due to Matthew's hobbling but soon, after making their way down a long hallway, the threshold of the sitting room came into focus. Germany, Italy, and Japan had sat down at the far end of the room on the brown leather sofa that was set directly before a large bay window. France and England were side by side on the love seat adjacent to the trio. And, finally, Russia sat on the last sofa, alone. Its back was facing the threshold of the room.

America escorted Canada to the sofa that Russia occupied, plopping him down none-too-gently on the left side of the sofa. His twin let out a grunt and glared up at him. Apparently, he didn't enjoy being roughly handled. America chuckled. It served him right.

America grinned at him before turning on his heel and heading back toward the kitchen.

"Bloody hell, Alfred. I hardly think this is the time for food," England said, exasperated.

America answered him a moment later, shuffling around in the kitchen. "Not getting food, Iggy." The sound of cabinets being opened and shut echoed into the living room, and Alfred emerged from the dark kitchenette seconds later, arms laden with first aid supplies. He wandered back toward Canada, taking a seat on the coffee table before him and dumping his gathered implements to his side.

"Foot," he commanded, indicating for Matthew to rest his foot on his knee so that he would be able to examine it. Matthew did as he was told, but with a great deal of difficulty, groaning when Alfred pulled off his shoe and sock.

Much to Alfred's dismay, Matthew's ankle had a large carmine bruise blooming just over the joint. He frowned as he prodded it with gentle fingers, delicately testing its condition.

Matthew hissed.

And suddenly the realization settled like ice over everyone in occupancy of the room. It was conformation.

This was _not_ an isolated incident.

Alfred cleared his throat awkwardly, feeling seven pairs of eyes scrutinizing him. "Well, the good news is it's not broken." A humorless smile spread his lips. "It's sprained, though."

"I could have told you that," Matthew replied solemnly.

Alfred hummed in acknowledgement, scoping up the tan bandage that lay to his side. He carefully began looping it around Matthew's ankle, noting the slight tremor in his brother's leg as he tied off the end of the bandage securely.

Alfred leaned forward, plucking a throw pillow from the middle cushion of the couch. He laid it on the table and then carefully transferred Matthew's injured foot to it. Finally, he picked up the last of his supplies: an ice pack, a rubber band, and a dish towel. He wrapped the dish towel around the ice pack, bundling the corners. He tied them together with the rubber band before lightly placing the cold compress onto Matthew's ankle.

"Cold!" Matthew hissed.

"You're Canadian, you'll live," Alfred replied, rising to his feet. He took a wide step over Matthew's outstretched leg before plopping down in the center of the sofa, squished between him and Russia.

"Ahem," Germany cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the room from America to himself. He sat up straighter in his seat – if that were possible – and squared his shoulders.

"Now that we've had time to relocate and recuperate, I believe that it would be in our best interest to find any information about today's happenings and determine its range of influence." His face was stoic and eyes steely, but there was tenseness to the blond nation's posture.

"How would we go about finding that information, Germany-san?" Japan asked, tilting his head toward the other quizzically.

Germany was quiet, eyes contemplating.

"We'll figure out something," he said after a pause. "We cannot simply sit here and turn a blind eye to what's happening."

"Vee?" Italy's timid voice rang out.

"Yes, Italy?" Germany answered with a note of exasperated annoyance in his voice.

The small brunet looked up toward the blond with unsure eyes. "Couldn't we try watching the news to get information?" His voice was hesitant but steady.

Huh.

Alfred hadn't even thought of that. He just assumed that the television wouldn't be working.

Germany sputtered, face reddening. "O-of course. Yes." His eyes scanned the coffee table before him, searching for the television controller. Unable to find it, he turned his eyes toward Alfred. "America?" he prompted.

"One step ahead of ya, dude," Alfred replied. He had already retrieved the remote from the drawer of the coffee table while Germany had been conversing with Italy. He flicked on the power only for the room to be filled with a shrill whine from the device.

All occupants of the room, save America, jumped at the earsplitting screech.

"What in the hell is that?" England cried, covering his ears with his hands.

"Emergency alert system," Alfred answered, unusually stoic. "Shut up and watch."

The television set continued to beep, but a black screen with white text had popped up. It read: _**EMERGENCY ALERT SYSTEM: CIVIL AUTHORITIES HAVE ISSUED A CONTAGIOUS DISEASE WARNING.**_

A few more beeps, and the audio had switched to a robotic male voice.

" _The following message is transmitted under the order of the United States Department of Homeland Security and the Centers of Disease Control._

 _An unidentified virus string is rapidly spreading throughout all regions of the United States. The first cases of this virus were reported in major cities throughout the country. The virus has since spread to outlying regions of the United States._

 _Symptoms of this virus include: initial nausea and vomiting, loss of muscle control, and loss of consciousness._

 _The Centers for Disease Control have also reported that infected persons have been reported to become highly volatile and are to be considered dangerous. Do not approach these individuals._

 _This virus is believed to be water transmitted, so refrain from consuming water that has not been thoroughly boiled and or bottled._

 _Authorities recommend that the following actions be taken by all members of the public: Stay indoors, if at all possible. Have enough food and water supplies in your shelter area to last for up to two weeks._

 _If you are bitten by another individual or show symptoms of having contracted this virus, quarantine yourself from others._

 _Most importantly: stay safe and calm during this situation. Unruly behavior will not be tolerated. Individuals who cause unnecessary panic **will** be arrested." _

The shrill beeping resumed once more before the robotic voice repeated its previous warning. Alfred clicked off the television before it could be completed.

Alfred's hand instinctively went to his coat pocket and he dug through it, past his wallet and other clutter, to get to his phone. Once he had it in his grasp he turned it on. He'd switched it off during the meeting.

It beeped erratically in his palm, showing 100+ missed calls from the President and various other government officials.

Shit.

Dread pooling in his stomach, he attempted to call his boss. His frown deepened when his call wouldn't go through. It seemed he didn't have service.

"Anyone's cell working?" he asked, looking up at the solemn room.

"Our mobile phones do not work here even under normal circumstances, Amerika," Russia answered, his voice unusually deep – not the childish pitch he tended to use around the others – and brows knitted together.

"Well that's fucking great," Alfred snapped and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his lap as he cradled his head in his hands.

"Amérique, mon petit, you need to calm down." Alfred heard the concern in France's voice and felt the other man place a hand on his shoulder from behind – when he had gotten there, Alfred didn't know. Regardless, he couldn't calm himself. Dread was building in his gut and there was nothing that he or anyone could do to stop it from growing.

"It'll be all right-"

"No! It will not be all right!" America shouted, jumping up and spinning around to face his father.

France's face was comical to say the least.

America could very well see the shock on his face. France could deal with being yelled at – England and he argued all the time – but _never_ in his life had he been shouted at by Alfred. Not even when they had been at war with each other had his youngest son ever raised his voice at him.

England maybe, but never him.

"That warning was issued by the Department of Homeland Security! I'm under attack and whoever's doing it is using biological warfare! My people are _eating_ each other! Don't you fucking **dare** tell me it's all right because it's not!"

" _ **Alfred!"**_ England roared, jumping to his feet. He was beside France in an instant.

"What?! Please, tell me what you have to say! I'd love to hear it!" America growled. His face was flushed in anger and his bright blue eyes bore into England's green irises.

"Don't start this with me, boy," England hissed in a low voice. His lips were pressed into a thin line, turning white from pressure.

"You don't intimidate me, England." Alfred crossed his arms over his chest in defiance.

"Yes, well—"

"Enough!"

Three blond heads snapped to the left.

Canada stared at the three of them, fuming, his eyes bright with anger.

"This pissing match you two are having is not going to solve anything!" he exclaimed. "It's a bad situation, and fighting is only going to make it worse! Instead of just sitting around here, let's do something productive. Germany, Italy, Japan?"

"Yes?" Germany asked, slightly dazed from the normally quiet Canadian's outburst.

"Can you three go and board up the windows in the front of the house? We don't want any unexpected visitors getting in here while we're sleeping tonight. There's plywood and a toolbox in the basement."

Germany looked to Italy and Japan and received nods of approval. "Yes, very well." He and the two other nations rose from their seats, awkwardly inching out of the tension filled room and toward the cellar.

After the trio disappeared around the corner, Canada turned his attention to the remaining occupants of the room.

"Papa, dad, can you two make supper? I'm sure everyone would get along better with something in their stomachs. I'll help in a moment."

France nodded silently, face free of his usual easy grin as he led a visibly upset England away from their sons and toward the kitchen.

After the two had disappeared into the kitchen and the sound of pots and pans could be heard clattering and banging, Matthew turned back to Alfred, disappointment in his eyes. "Make up the guestrooms, okay? And try to cool off. That was uncalled for and you might have said something that you regretted."

Numbly, America nodded and turned to make his way down the hallway and up the stairs. He could hear Russia's slightly heavier footfalls trailing behind him as he crept up to the second floor.

Shame settled like an anchor in Alfred's chest. He shouldn't have said that, he knew. It was just a stressful situation. And when he was stressed, he said things that he didn't mean. The disbelief in France's gentle violet eyes as he had screamed at him played like a broken movie reel in his head.

And England was just trying to defend France from being the unfortunate outlet of America's aggression.

God, he was such an ass.

"I'm such an idiot," Alfred groaned, flopping face down on the guest room bed.

"You can be," Ivan agreed, sitting down next to Alfred's prone figure. The bed dipped with his weight as he leaned over to rub the younger nation's back.

"Gee, thanks. That makes me feel a lot better."

"Nothing I would say to the contrary will make you feel any better, Fredka. You know that you have done wrong and any reassurances on my part would seem less than genuine to you."

Alfred sighed, pressing his face further into the quilt below him. "I hate it when you do that," he whined.

"And what is it that I do, Fredka?" Alfred could hear the amusement in the Russian's voice.

"Be right."

Ivan snorted.

"No, I'm serious. You sound like a wizened, old grandfather. It's a little freaky."

"I am much older than a grandfather, Dorogoy. Would it not make sense that after a number of centuries, I am practiced in some subjects?" Russia hummed, pressing his hand more firmly into Alfred's back as he came across a stubborn knot.

Alfred sighed in relief as it was worked out. "I guess not," he mumbled. "A lot's happened today, ya know? It was just a lot at once. I didn't mean anything by it. I'm just, I don't know," Alfred motioned with his hand, indicating he was searching for the correct word to describe what it was that he was feeling.

"Overwhelmed?" Russia supplied.

"Yes, overwhelmed." Alfred rolled over to his back and sat up. He squirmed closer to Ivan and leaned his head on the other's shoulder, wrapping an arm around the larger man's waist. "Like, if you're going to war, you can prepare yourself for that, ya know? You have a chance to psych yourself up and numb yourself so something that would normally scare the hell out of you would just seem like an everyday occurrence."

Though, that never really worked for Alfred for long.

He was quiet for a moment as he took his glasses off, setting them down next to him on the mattress. Rubbing his face with his free hand in an attempt to soothe his oncoming headache, he continued. "That's why this is so fucked up. It came out of nowhere. And, God, there's not a thing I can do about it and that kills me."

"Sometimes things happen that we have no control of, Podsolnechnik." Russia paused, pressing a kiss to America's temple. _"_ _Výshe golový ne prýgnesh'."_

"What's that mean?" Alfred asked, frowning.

"There is only so much you can do." He paused and reached over, tilting Alfred's chin up so that he could look the other in the eye. "You do not have to do everything alone, Fredka. It is all right to ask for help and support from others when you need it."

Alfred shivered.

Ivan wasn't talking about their current predicament anymore, he knew. He was alluding to Alfred's earlier episode in the parking lot and the knowledge that Ivan – fuck, everyone – had seen him in such a fragile state made his skin crawl. He wasn't weak and he didn't need anyone thinking that he was.

"I'll keep that in mind," he replied coldly.

Ivan's lips tilted downward at the monotone of his lover's statement. He was always trying to get Alfred to open up to him, but the harder he tried, it seemed, and the more Alfred shut himself away. Ivan wasn't great with emotions either, but Alfred knew that he'd at least try to open up to him, had he asked and he felt guilty that he wasn't able to do the same.

It wasn't like he didn't trust Ivan. It was just that, well, feelings were hard to talk about. Aside from making him feel weak whenever he tried to talk about them – which wasn't often – he could never adequately express them to someone else. It was as if he had a symphony playing in his head, and all he could share was the bassline. It was just too difficult and draining.

With nothing left to say, silence fell like a blanket over them.

As the quiet stretched on, America twitched uncomfortably in place. The young blond was the type of person that always had something to say – he was someone who always needed some kind of buzz to keep him occupied. Quiet was the antithesis of Alfred F. Jones.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked in an attempt to fill the all-consuming silence.

"My sisters," Ivan replied quietly, fingers curling tightly around the fabric of his scarf.

Shit.

Alfred was a dumbass.

Here he was, whining about something that very likely was happening globally. At least his family was _with him._ Ivan must have been worried sick over Nataliya and Katyusha. Fuck, everyone was probably worried sick about their family.

Canada, France, and England were all the family he had. But that didn't mean that he and Canada were all France and England had.

England had brothers – Scotland, Ireland, and Wales – and even though they didn't get along well, he knew the Englishman still loved them and cared for their welfare.

France had Spain and was no doubt worried about his condition.

Hell, Japan had China. Italy had Romano. Germany had Prussia. What right did he have to be upset over anything when he only had one major concern and everyone else had two?

He didn't, he realized. He added _self-centered_ to his mental list of personal vices.

"Hey, look at me," Alfred commanded. Ivan tilted his head toward the younger nation, eyes curious. Alfred took his hand and squeezed. "Your little sister is the scariest person I've ever met."

By the look on Ivan's face, that was not what he had been expecting at all.

"Excuse me?" Ivan asked, confusion evident in his tone.

"Hold on, I'm getting there," he laughed. "She _is_ the scariest person I've ever met, but she is also one of the toughest people I know." Alfred smiled. "No matter what's happening – _if_ it's happening – I know for a fact that she'll be okay and I know that she'll be looking out for Kat, too."

"I was unaware that you were so confident in my sister's resolve." Ivan was smiling, the previous tenseness in his posture fading. His face had softened as well, Alfred noticed.

"It's a family trait so it's hard to miss." Alfred grinned, pushing himself back and cupping Ivan's face in his hands.

He urged the other forward, meeting him half way in a desperate kiss that he attempted to convey all his unspoken thoughts with: _I'm glad you're safe, I'm happy we're together, we'll be okay._

Ivan pushed against Alfred more forcefully, hands threading desperately in the younger nation's wheat colored locks as he pulled him impossibly closer. Alfred moaned into the kiss, eyes closed, and held onto Ivan's coat like a lifeline.

A bit more jostling and America was on his back, Russia looming over him. They broke apart for a brief second, greedily gulping in air, before their mouths clashed once more. America wrapped his arms around Russia's shoulders, pulling him closer. Ivan was on him in a second, using one hand to support him so that the brunt of his weight didn't rest solely on Alfred.

Alfred didn't seem to mind, though. He spread his legs, wrapping them around Ivan's waist and pulling the other closer so that they were chest to chest. He clung to Ivan's shoulders, pressing open mouthed kisses to the other's lips.

Right here, right now, nothing else mattered but the two of them.

Russia's hands ran up and down America's sides, causing the blue eyed nation to shiver. He could feel his half hard cock straining against his boxers and knew that Ivan was having a very similar problem if the hardness pressing against his hip was any indication. Smirking, Alfred bucked his hips up against Ivan's, eliciting a low moan from the larger nation.

"Alfred, liste– **WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?** "

America felt Russia go ridged above him.

Alfred was right there with him. He froze, blood draining from his face.

The door.

They hadn't locked the door – had been too preoccupied with each other to remember that the others were very much there and that there was a very high risk of being discovered.

Oh God. England had caught them.

Heat radiated from his ears to his neck. Numbly, he unwrapped his legs from Russia's waist – his erection had dwindled away to nothing in his dread – and led the older nation away from him with his hand. Once Ivan was seated beside him, he scrambled to stand up, shoving his glasses on his face in his haste.

"I-Iggy, I can explain," his voice shook as he scrambled for some excuse to lessen the blow. His face had taken a dark crimson hue as he sputtered.

"You're shagging _Russia_?!" England howled, as if wounded.

"No?"

A hurt, discontented sound came from behind him and Alfred's heart twisted painfully in his chest.

Damn it.

Alfred couldn't deny Ivan – he'd spent years doing just that. It wasn't fair to Russia for him to pretend that their relationship was nonexistent, meant nothing, to him. Especially not with what England had just witnessed.

"Yes."

England hissed and his livid face made America shrink back.

"I don't know!" America stammered.

"You don't know?" England mumbled in a low voice that was bordering on hysteric. "I very well should hope that you know since you were on each other like teenagers not but two seconds ago!"

"Okay, yes! Ivan and I—"

"So it's ' _Eevawn'_ now, is it?! Fucking hell, Alfred! What do you think you're doing?! He's a bloody psychopath for God's sake!"

"Don't you dare call him that!" Alfred snarled, seeing red.

Ivan tried so hard to be courteous to other nations! He'd try to converse with them, to joke with them, but despite his efforts, the others just wrote him off as some sort of unbalanced head case. Ivan had never said it, but Alfred knew that their shunning and jeers bothered him a great deal. Whenever the taller nation overheard someone saying something less than savory about him during meetings, it became obvious by the slump of his shoulders and his strained smile.

Sure, Ivan wasn't as well practiced in everyday social protocol as the other nations seemed to be, but for most of his life he had only his sisters to interact with – one of which was a little bit unbalanced. But he tried, and, in Alfred's opinion, he was getting leaps and bounds better at that sort of thing.

England had no right to be throwing those accusations around.

"You know what? I am not dealing with this right now!" England spun around, marching out the room. The door slammed behind him with a loud bang.

* * *

Dinner that night had been awkward, to say the least.

Everyone knew that something else, other than their previous argument, had transpired between America and England. But no one – save Russia – knew the extent of it.

The silent feud had lasted into the next day.

Annoyed and wanting to avoid confrontation, America had taken up residence in the den, fiddling with an old police radio. The television had continued to blast the EAS and the phone and the internet still didn't have signal, so the radio would be their only source of information on the outside world. That was, if he could get the stupid thing to _work_.

He continued his ministrations regardless, letting out a long-suffering sigh.

"Need a little help?"

America looked up to see Canada, held up by the crutches they'd managed to find in his basement, standing before him. He had a bag of potato chips clutched under his arm, which America guessed was meant as a peace offering.

He smiled. He appreciated the sentiment, he did, but it was early in the morning and his stomach was twisting in the familiar way that it had been for the last few months. There was no way he could stomach it.

Regardless, a tired grin found Alfred's lips as he answered, "Bro, if you could get this working, I'd kiss ya."

"On second thought, maybe I don't want to fix it."

"Shut up, dude," Alfred said as Matthew sat down in the seat opposite of him, leaning his crutches against the table and laying the potato chips down in front of Alfred. Alfred pushed the Police radio over to his older sibling, watching his expression as the violet eyed blond accessed the damage.

Matthew sighed but went to work, fiddling with the back of the ancient device. He worked in silence for a while, the only sound being the twist of wires and the occasional dull clang as Canada shifted the device to a better angle.

Matthew peered over at Alfred a few minutes later, a frown on his lips.

"What?" Alfred asked.

"Aren't you hungry?" Matthew asked in a voice so sincere that Alfred almost laughed.

"Don't really have an appetite at the moment," he answered. And that was the truth. Not the whole truth, exactly, but there was no way in hell he was going to admit to being sick. He already looked weak with his little episode in the parking lot yesterday. He would not give anyone another reason to pity him.

"Are you all right?" Matthew asked, concern evident in his tone.

"I'm fine, Mattie, just tired." Another partial truth.

With everything that had happened in the past twenty four hours, sleep had been hard to come by. After much tossing and turning last night – much to the displeasure of Russia – America had been able to fall into a fitful sleep in the wee hours of the morning. Not long after he'd finally gotten to sleep, though, he was woken up by the all-consuming need to vomit.

Russia had sat next to him, wiping his sweat covered forehead with a washcloth, his eyebrows knitted together in concern. He was worried and, truth be told, so was America. He'd never in his life been this sick for this long – not even during the Great Depression. Usually it was a few days of intense illness, and by the end of the week he was fine again.

And to make matters even worse, his back, legs, and hips were bothering the hell out of him. Some times were worse than others, but the dull, burning pain always seemed to be there.

Oh, and the fact that there were _fucking zombies_ just roaming around _._ It really wasn't his day, it seemed.

He was snapped out of his musings when Matthew pressed a cool hand against his forehead. He leaned into it, pleased at the contrast it brought to his heated skin.

"You're warm," Matthew said with a frown.

The younger nation sat up straighter in his chair. "Well, yeah, it's wild fire season."

Matthew didn't look convinced. "You should get to bed. I'll tell papa you're not feeling well and then he and dad can –"

"No!" America shouted, cutting Matthew off.

"Al, you're burning up. Just let me –"

"I'm fine, Matt! Really!"

"But papa could –"

"No. There is no need to involve them because _I'm fine._ "

Matthew sighed, taking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes. He put them back on a few moments later, and looked back to Alfred, gravely serious.

"What else happened between you and dad last night?"

"What makes you think something else happened?" America asked, way too quickly to be considered casual.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" Canada asked, arching an eyebrow. "Papa and I spent 20 minutes trying to get him to calm down. And we _did_ calm him down. He went upstairs to apologize to you, and when he came back down he looked like he'd seen a ghost. Then at dinner you two looked like you were going to kill each other. Obviously _something_ happened."

America sighed. What should he tell him? England knew, so it was only a matter of time before France knew. And as soon as France knew, without a doubt, Canada would know within the day. Such were the workings of families and secrets. And he did suppose that he'd rather have his brother hear his side of the story rather than England's warped, distorted view of it.

"Well?" Canada prompted.

God, this was going to be awkward. Might as well get it over with.

"He kinda caught me and Russia making out."

 _Silence_.

"I'm sorry," Canada said after a moment. "I think I misheard you."

America's mouth set in a grim line. "You didn't."

Canada chuckled in a way that was boarding on hysteric. "No, no. I must have misheard you. Because there is _**no way**_ that you just told me that our father caught you kissing someone who you were trying to blow up – who was trying to blow you up – for 44 years!"

"I'm in a relationship with Russia, Matthew."

Canada's normally calm facial expression remained for a moment, before a flurry of emotions exploded across his features.

"Are you insane?!" he shouted, standing up so suddenly that his chair was knocked over. He winced at the weight put on his ankle, but continued his tirade. "Al, this is _Russia_ we're talking about, not a fucking puppy! He's nuts!"

"Don't say that! You don't know anything about him!" America shot up from his chair, glaring.

"I know that he's unstable! Did you forget everything that happened from 1917 to 1991?! Did you forget the Berlin blockade? The Korean War?! Did you forget how the Baltics can't even say his name without flinching?! There's a reason for that!" Canada cried.

"Why on Earth would you –" Canada stopped suddenly, his eyes widening in horror. "Has he hurt you?! Is he threatening you to make you stay with him?! If he is, I swear I'll—"

"God, Mattie, he's not like that!" Alfred cried, shaking his head. "No, he's not making me stay with him! I'm with him because I lo- **like** him! Is it so hard to believe that being with _Ivan_ makes _Alfred_ happy?"

Canada paused, studying America's face for any hint of deception. He must have found none, since he spoke a moment later, in a calmer, more collected tone.

"How long?"

"How long what?" America questioned.

"How long have you been _with_ him?"

"Mattie, come on –"

" _ **How long?**_ " Canada repeated once more with authority that America didn't know he processed. He was able to decipher the underlying question through Canada's calm façade: _How long have you been lying to us?_

He sputtered, but one glance from Canada had him answering solemnly.

"Ten months, officially."

"And unofficially?"

"…"

" _Alfred."_

America felt sicker than before, his insides churning like the sea.

"A long time, Mattie."

"How long?"

"Matt—"

" _How long, Alfred?"_

"…Since around the 1800s… On and off…"

Matthew took a deep breath and Alfred didn't dare move, his nerves fried as he waited for _something._ The silence was tense, adrenaline coursing through his being as he steeled himself for the oncoming assault.

"You've been together for _two centuries_ , and you never thought, maybe, just maybe: _Hey, I should tell my family about this._ "

"Well, what did you want me to do? I knew that you'd all overreact –"

"It's not overreacting if it's warranted! For God's sake, Alfred, not only is he a head case, he's so much older than you too!"

"France is a lot older than England!" America shot back defensively.

"Papa's 84 years older than Dad! Russia is _745 years_ older than you! At least Papa was still a kid when Dad was born! Russia was a grown man before you could even crawl!"

"Yeah, well –" America stopped suddenly, a hand flying to his mouth. His stomach was rolling and flipping and he could feel warm, acidic bile creeping its way up his throat.

 _Come on, not now,_ America thought desperately, willing himself not to retch in front of his brother. However, despite his mental protests, his stomach continued to churn angrily. He clenched his eyes shut, holding on tightly to the back of his chair as the room began to spin around him.

He felt Canada's hand on his shoulder, guiding him over to his chair. He sat, laying his head on the table as his stomach continued to turn. It was a few minutes before his stomach settled enough that he was able to talk and by then Canada had settled back into his own chair.

"How long have you been feeling sick?" Canada's quiet voice broke the silence.

"I'm not –"

"Alfred, please don't lie to me." The _anymore_ went unsaid.

Alfred looked up from the table, only to be met with his brother's solemn face. The uncomfortable sensation of guilt welled in his chest and he felt like a small child caught out of bed after dark.

Mattie wouldn't belittle him, he knew. He was just worried. And he wanted to tell him everything and anything, he did, but he didn't want to be pitied like some weakling. It wasn't like when they were small and there wasn't a thing that Mattie couldn't fix. They were all grown up now and Alfred was the one that looked after Mattie, not the other way around.

Maybe he could just – no. One glance at Canada's pleading eyes and he knew he _had_ to tell him.

"A little more than two months," he answered finally, dejected.

Canada's eyes narrowed and America could almost feel his scrutiny intensify.

"What are your symptoms?" he asked, concern coloring his tone.

America bit his lip, worrying it between his teeth. "Vomiting, dizziness, fatigue. You know, what you'd expect."

"Jesus, Al, how have you been able to function? That's depilating."

Alfred looked down to his hands, unable to meet his brother's concerned gaze. "It lessens, throughout the day. I usually feel okay by the late afternoon."

"Wait, are you saying that it's at its worse in the morning?"

Alfred wrung his hands together, wanting the conversation to cease at that instant. But, through his discomfort, he continued. "I mean, yeah, it's the worst in the morning, but it can happen throughout the day."

Canada's eyebrows knitted together, his eyes contemplating. After a moment, he stood back up, hobbling over to America.

"Can you lift your shirt for me, Al? So I can see your stomach?"

"Why?" America asked suspiciously.

Canada shook his head. "Just do it," he pleaded. At Alfred's defiant stare he added, "Please?"

Sighing, Alfred relented. "All right, I guess."

Gripping the hem of his shirt, America rolled it up so that the whole of his abdomen was bared. His cheeks colored slightly as Canada focused on the round paunch that began just below his navel, jutting out between his hips.

His twin reached out and gently pressed his hand against the curve of America's stomach. When it did not give even slightly, he pulled back as if burned, eyes wide.

"Alfred," he said urgently, "I need you to be honest with me."

"Okay?" Alfred replied, his tone unsure.

"When was the last time you and Russia had unprotected sex?"

America sputtered. "How the fuck is that your business, dude?!"

Canada exhaled, running a hand through his blond locks. "Believe me, Al, I'm not asking because I want to know. When?"

"I don't know," America shrugged, trying to pin point an exact date. "A few months ago?"

"How many months?" Canada pressed.

"Uhh..? Like four-ish?" America rolled his shirt back down as he spoke before looking up to his brother, confusion swirling in his blue eyes.

"Were you on bottom?" Canada asked, his voice deathly serious and without a hint of humor.

Cheeks reddening, Alfred nodded.

"And you've been sick for the past two months?"

"Yes."

Canada took a deep breath. "Alfred..? Do you think that you might be ..?"

"Might be _what_?"

"You know…"

"No. I really don't."

Canada looked away, wringing his crisp white dress shirt in his hands. Inhaling deeply he answered, "…Pregnant?"

" _Pregnant_?" Alfred parroted, the word thick on his tongue. Time seemed to slow around him, his heart sinking like an anchor and thudding loudly in his ears.

 _ **Pregnant.**_

How could Mattie even suggest that? He couldn't be pregnant! He and Ivan had always been careful! One time wasn't going to get him knocked up! And besides, they didn't have any colonies together. There was no way he _could_ be pregnant!

"Absolutely not."

"Alfred…"

"Matt, I'm not. I swear, it's just wildfires."

"But how do you know that!?" Canada exclaimed.

"Because I can't be! Not now, anyway!" America shot back.

Canada heaved a sigh. "Al, your justification for this can't just be: _Well it's inconvenient, so it's not a possibility!_ Like it or not, you could be! Especially if you've been this sick this long!"

"But—"

"Don't give me that wildfire crap! They started a month ago, you've been sick for two!"

"Well what do you want me to do, Matt?!" America retorted, his voice biting. Alfred knew he was being irritable, but he couldn't help it. The ache in his head that had started off as a dull pulsating had crescendoed into a full-blown migraine thanks to Canada's prodding.

"I want you to take this seriously, Al!"

"Oh, believe me, I am," Alfred huffed.

"No, you're not!"

"Oh, wow," Alfred exclaimed incredulously. "I didn't know that you know more about my emotions than I do!"

"Alfred—"

"No, please. Go ahead. What am I thinking right now, Matt? I can't possibly figure it out unless you tell me, dumb as I am."

"Alfred, you know that's not what I meant! You're putting words in my mouth. I'm just saying that we have to take this as a real possibility! If you are it could be – ah." Matthew stopped suddenly, his eyes blown wide as he stared at Alfred.

"What?" Alfred asked, confused but grateful for the sudden end of Matthew's tirade.

"You're bleeding," Canada said softly, hobbling closer toward him.

"I am?" Alfred asked, reaching up to feel his face. Sure enough, warm liquid was flowing sluggishly from both of his nostrils.

"Oh."

With a furrow to his brow, Matthew reached forward and nudged Alfred down into his chair gently. "Lean your head forward," he said quietly as he rummaged through his pocket. He drew out a pale, cream handkerchief and pressed it into Alfred's hand. Alfred nodded his thanks, pressing the handkerchief to his nose to stem the flow of blood.

"I'll drop this for the moment," Matthew said, his voice taking on a gentle timbre as he pulled a chair up to sit next to Alfred. "But we're seriously going to have to talk about it later."

"Whatever, Matt."

"I mean it, Alfred."

"I know."

* * *

Some notes for the story - Emergency Alert System. I'm not too too sure if they have this in other countries, but in the United States it's something that we use for emergencies. Mostly it's used for weather related things: tornadoes/earthquakes/severe weather, but it can be used for civil defense - oddly enough, though, they didn't use it on 9/11. It's also very annoying because they test it every month at about three in the morning. It makes a horrendous screeching sound and then the most robotic, soulless voice comes on to tell you that it's a test. I've had the unfortunate luck to hear it in the wee hours of the morning when I was just trying to watch The Nanny and make food.

Nosebleed. Don't worry, Alfred's not dying or anything. Nosebleeds/headaches can be brought on by large amounts of stress or anxiety. My sister used to get them a lot for that reason. Basically, your blood pressure spikes when you're really stressed/anxious and it can cause blood vessels to burst. Not great, but not life threatening either.

Review Responses -

 **Reader:** Thank you so much, you're very kind! I'm really glad you like it! And yes, they're in Massachusetts. And, oh man, I've talked about this a lot with my best friend and my brother-in-law, you have no idea. I don't really know as a group how we'd do, but I think individuals could sink or swim. I think the people that are like: _I'll just go hit up Dick's Sporting Good's, daaaaaaaah!_ would probably not make it. I think the thing that a lot of people want to do is like, raid stores, and I personally wouldn't. 'Cause, I mean, you're probably not the only one that's like, I'll just go to _X_ place. If everyone's in a panic and everyone wants food/supplies, they will fight you for it. And that means more chance of getting bitten. I'd personally go either to the woods or the country because there is substantially less chance of getting bitten. You could wait it out for a few weeks, and then scavenge a hopefully empty store. So, in that regard, I kinda made Alfred do what I would do lol.

 **That one review:** I'm glad you liked it and thank you so much for your kind words! c:

Anyway, sorry for the rather long AN. Thank you all very much for reading! As always, I don't have a beta, so all mistakes you see are my own. If you see any, feel free to point them out. I don't take offense in the least! Constructive criticism is very welcome, as well!

Thanks again for reading, guys! Please review!

Till next time.

\- T.D.


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